


seed for seed

by ailurea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Confused Villager Shiro, Exhibitionism, Facials, Harvest God Keith, M/M, Mostly Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Bottom Keith (Voltron), Ritual Public Sex, So much come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 05:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea/pseuds/ailurea
Summary: The harvest god Kogane requires an offering of seed—and not the kind that you plant.Shiro is more than willing to provide.





	seed for seed

**Author's Note:**

> For [Bianca](https://twitter.com/shirofenty/), who asked for deity!Keith and ritual public sex. ;)  
> Thank you so much, and I hope you like it!! ♥

“The prodigal son arrives!”

Shiro winces as he closes the door of the house behind him. It’s late enough that he was hoping Matt would be asleep already. Instead, Matt is sitting at the table with a book, several pieces of paper, and assorted mechanical bits, and is peering at Shiro through his glasses.

“Hey, Matt.” Shiro avoids his gaze as he tucks his shoes away by the door. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Matt says. “And how are you?”

“Ah, you know,” Shiro says, busying himself with sorting out the contents of his bag. “Same old.”

“Right,” Matt says. “Same old working through the harvest festival and getting back home minutes before midnight. My parents don’t even know what you look like anymore.”

The guilt he feels is persistent and familiar. The Holts have been nothing but kind to him, taking him in after his own parents died and no one else wanted to deal with a cursed child. Now he’s letting the curse keep him away.

Shiro lets the feeling gnaw on him as he sinks into the chair across from Matt. “I know,” he says. He fiddles with a gear on the table. “I’ll take time off soon.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Matt says. “At this rate, you’ll work yourself to death. Literally.”

Shiro shrugs. “There are worse ways to go.”

“No.” Matt snatches the gear back. “I’m pretty sure that on the list of depressing ways to die, that’s on top. I’m serious,” he says at Shiro’s startled laugh. “If you won’t stop working, you at least need to take a vacation.”

“This village only has so many doctors,” Shiro says.

“They’ll get by without you,” Matt says. “They’d better, or they’re doomed. When’s the last time you even took a break?”

Shiro’s first instinct is to say _my birthday_ , but that wasn’t true this year—his twenty-fifth was the most somber yet, and he threw himself into work to avoid dwelling on it.

Matt latches on to his hesitation. “See? It’s like you’re allergic or something.”

Shiro sighs. “You know it’s not like that. If I don’t have a lot of time left, then I want to use it to help the village.”

Matt’s eyes light up in a way that’s meant trouble ever since he came out of the womb, and he leans forward, planting his elbows on the table. “What if I told you that you could help the village and take a break at the same time?”

“I would tell you I’m worried, because I always am when I see that look on your face.”

“Come with me to the Selection tomorrow.”

“Matt—”

“What, you’re going to tell me that ensuring a good harvest for the entire village isn’t a useful enough task for you?”

“No,” Shiro says, because there’s really no way to argue with that, “but—don’t you think the whole thing is kind of weird?”

“Come on, it’s like your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lose your virginity to a god,” Matt says. “Do you want to die a virgin, Shiro?”

“My—I’m not a virgin, Matt,” Shiro says, even though he feels himself flushing like one.

Matt doesn’t miss a beat. “I thought we were pretending you-know-who doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not how that—you know what, never mind.” Shiro knows when a line of conversation is not worth pursuing with Matt. “Look, first of all, even if I don’t volunteer, plenty of other people will. Second of all, even if I did, Kogane wouldn’t pick me, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Shiro looks pointedly at the stub of his right bicep, shirt sleeve tied off where the rest of an arm should be.

Matt shrugs. “Eh. He’s a god. I’m sure he’s seen weirder things.”

“Fine,” Shiro says. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it doesn’t make a difference who he picks, he just needs to pick someone.”

“The point isn’t whether he picks you or not, although you’ve gotta be kidding if you don’t think you have a lot going for you in the looks department,” Matt says. “The point is that you take a holiday with the rest of the village for once. C’mon, Shiro. Just one day. Please.”

Matt’s not bringing out the lines that Shiro expects, but Shiro knows that he’s thinking it—how any day at this point could be Shiro’s last. Shiro’s thinking it too.

“Okay,” he says. “One day.”

\----

The Selection and subsequent Exchange are centerpieces of the village’s harvest festival. Shiro knows from history books it wasn’t always this way. When Kogane’s rituals began over a century ago, it was more of a bitter affair; a punishment to the village for being on the opposing side of a war for the Underworld. But now the perception has changed—Kogane is beautiful, they say, and selective. To be in his presence is an honor; to be chosen by him, even more so.

It all takes place by Kogane’s shrine, a pavilion built with metal and wood on a hill in the middle of a lush garden. It’s a lovely place, and peaceful; Shiro often comes by on his way home from work to enjoy the fresh air and say hello to the stray dog that lives here.

It’s never as busy as it is now.

It looks like the entire village has come out for the Selection, which is astounding. Shiro didn’t realize it was such a large affair; he had always been either too young or too busy to see it at all. Some of the people milling about are volunteers, dressed in their finest clothing; everyone else has come to observe, or act as moral support for the volunteers.

Pidge actually does a double-take when she sees Shiro standing there with Matt. “Who are you and what’d you do with Shiro?”

“Ha ha ha,” Shiro says.

“Mom cleaned him up nice, huh?” Matt says, elbowing her. “If Kogane doesn’t choose him, I’ll eat my shoe.”

Shiro only has one nice shirt, and it’s this one—black and white with a silver cord tied around his waist, thrown on top of plain black pants. Sam and Colleen were confused but encouraging about his participation and helped him prepare that morning. He has no idea what Colleen’s done with his face—there’s kohl on his eyes, and rouge on his lips, and they had to run before he could get a good look at it, but given Matt’s reaction it can’t be too bad, whatever it is.

He’s not overly concerned with being appealing to Kogane, but he doesn’t want to stick out negatively either.

Pidge looks him up and down, then turns to stare at Matt. “He’s never even observed, and he’s taking the day off to come here? He’s clearly possessed.”

“C’mon, Pidge, let him have fun in peace,” Matt says.

Pidge frowns and crosses her arms. “Shiro doesn’t have fun.”

“Ouch,” Shiro says, and his tone is joking, but he means it. The guilt crawls back up his throat. “Sorry, Pidge, I know I’ve sucked lately. I’ve sucked a lot. But I’ll go around the festival with you today, okay? With your parents, too.”

“Better take the day off tomorrow, then,” Matt says. “You’re gonna be a bit busy today.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “We all know he won’t choose me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Pidge says, but she sounds pleased.

“You weren’t planning on staying for the rest, were you?” Shiro says. Pidge is far too young to be observing the public debauchery about to occur.

“Nah, just here to see Matt’s ugly mug get rejected,” Pidge says. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we look pretty similar, Pidge.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

There’s a breeze, and above them, the bells attached to the pavilion’s entrance chime, a sign of the god’s impending arrival.

Matt grabs on to Shiro’s arm to drag him toward the line of volunteers. “Wish us luck!”

“Your face sucks!” Pidge says as she waves them off.

“Okay, so just remember,” Matt says as they bunch up shoulder to shoulder. “Come a lot, and whatever you do, don’t let him come. I don’t want to be stuck with just potatoes all year because he ran out of energy for anything else.”

“This is so weird,” Shiro mutters. Why couldn’t the harvest god accept a more normal offering? Cows, maybe? Even firstborns seem less strange, though admittedly more cruel. Instead they get an exhibitionist with a taste for mortal male seed.

It’s a good thing the village has embraced the ritual. Garre was instrumental in overthrowing the last lord of the Underworld. It’s hard to believe they wouldn’t do the same to Kogane if they disagreed with his terms.

The tinkling of the bells falls silent, and the air shifts as the crowd hushes, waiting.

A breath passes.

Then the god arrives in a swirl of leaves, and Shiro’s mind blanks, all thoughts vanishing with the last echoes of the sound.

As lovely as the shrine is, Kogane is even lovelier.

He appears with crossed arms and an expression of vague disdain. He’s objectively beautiful, with sun-kissed skin and striking dark features. His hair is dark and in a short braid over one shoulder, a laurel of gold atop his head. His eyes are arresting, and a color Shiro can’t define—he wants to say purple, but it isn’t, not really. His crimson chiton ends at mid-thigh, highlighting the inhuman length of his legs. Over it he wears a glimmering black cloak that shines like the night sky, a silver pin affixing it to one shoulder. His fingers are decorated with silver rings.

There’s no ceremony as his eyes sweep over the volunteers before stopping on Shiro. Shiro’s heart pounds as Kogane’s arms drop to his side and he takes one step closer, then another, then another, before he’s directly in front of Shiro, staring into his eyes. Shiro holds his breath. Keith’s gaze is boring into his soul, but he can’t look away from the golden flecks in Keith’s irises.

“You,” Kogane says, and Shiro didn’t think he had expectations for how Kogane’s voice would sound, but he’s taken aback by the dark gravel that spills from his lips. It makes heat pool in his gut all the same.

But also. No one mentioned that Shiro might have to actually speak to Kogane.

“Uh.” Shiro glances sideways at Matt, who continues to look straight ahead. “Me?”

Kogane presses his lips together, displeased by Shiro’s lack of decorum. Shiro can’t blame him.

“Your name,” Kogane says, more of a demand than a question, and Shiro’s pretty sure he’s about to be chewed out, not praised.

“Takashi,” Shiro says. It’s not the name he usually goes by, but he knows enough about old magic to know that it’s disrespectful to give a god his nickname.

“Takashi.” Shiro may not use the name, but he’s still offended by the distaste dripping around the syllables on Kogane’s tongue. “Call me Keith.” He produces a chalice out of the air and holds it out to Shiro, and Shiro can’t think to do anything but take it.

There’s liquid inside, golden and a little viscous. It smells faintly sweet.

“Drink,” Kogane—Keith says.

Shiro suspects he’s about to get turned into a pig, or worse, but his options here seem limited, and no one else is offering help. In fact, everyone seems to be avoiding looking directly at them.

He puts the chalice to his lips and drinks.

It’s as sweet as it smells but lighter than its viscosity made it seem. It tastes vaguely flowery, and it’s cool as it slides down his throat but warm as it settles into his stomach. He waits, Keith’s steady and expectant gaze unsettling him, but as far as he can tell he remains human-shaped.

Keith frowns and takes the chalice from his hand, vanishing it again. Then he turns, cloak sweeping behind him, and walks towards the pavilion. “Come.”

It looks like he’s passed some sort of test, but Shiro feels very much like he’d just failed. He looks desperately at Matt, and Matt jerks his head towards Keith in a clear sign of _go, you fool_.

Keith’s already halfway up the steps, and Shiro tries to maintain decorum as he power-walks after him. Keith doesn’t appear impressed by his efforts, watching him in silence as he ascends the final steps.

He’s easier to see, somehow, in the shadow of the pavilion. Now Shiro can make out the finer details of him—the face of the lion on the pin on his shoulder, the way the plaits of his braid aren’t exactly even. Keith looks different—broader, taller, his hair longer. It’s bizarre, given he was just staring into his eyes thirty seconds ago. Lighting is a powerful thing.

Keith’s watching him as he stands there, eyes boring into Shiro’s like he’s waiting for something, and Shiro aborts his train of thought to worry that there’s some kind of formality he’s missing. He’s still not sure what’s going on, but he thinks… Keith’s chosen him? Maybe he should have prepared a little more seriously.

“I’m honored,” he says with a clumsy bow.

Keith sighs. He sounds disappointed, and Shiro cringes. Not a great start.

He’s glad the pavilion is high enough that the crowd can’t hear him embarrassing himself, that he can’t see anyone unless he looks down. He just has to look up at the sky. This is fine.

“What happened to your arm?” Keith says, drawing Shiro’s attention back to him.

Apparently, tact is not a concept that exists for gods. Shiro doesn’t mind. “I was born without it.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Want?” Shiro repeats.

Keith rolls his eyes, a gesture Shiro wouldn’t have classified as godly, but Keith is here to defy expectations, it seems.

“That’s why everyone volunteers, isn’t it?” Keith says. “For the gift from a god. Do you want an arm?”

“Oh,” Shiro says. He’d forgotten about that part. “I mean—not really.” Others have wished for fame and fortune, to have the means of leaving the village and seeing the world. A gift from a god was life-changing.

But Shiro’s life doesn’t need changing. There are better, longer-lasting wishes he can make—for the village’s continued longevity, for instance. Or if that’s too much, then at least he hopes to ensure the livelihood of those who have taken him in and cared for him.

Keith’s gaze is questioning, and Shiro says, “There are other people I need to repay. I don’t have a lot of time left, so I don’t really think I’d get much use out of a gift for myself.”

Keith frowns. “What does that mean?”

“My birth fate,” Shiro says. “I was told I would die at twenty-five. I turned twenty-five six months ago, so I have six months left at most.”

“Someone tells you that you’re going to die and you just accept it?” Keith says. His posture hasn’t changed, but his tone is cutting, and Shiro’s taken aback by the fire in his eyes.

“Well, I mean…” Shiro isn’t sure what Keith wants from him, or what even set him off. “They’re messengers of the Fates.”

“Even the Fates can get it wrong.” Keith tilts his head and watches Shiro’s face. His voice softens. “You’re not scared?”

Shiro shrugs. “As much as anyone is,” he says, though maybe it’s not true. He’s had a lot longer to come to terms with it. “I know the Underworld can be cruel.”

Keith’s frown tips a little deeper. “It didn’t use to be,” he says, so quietly Shiro has to strain to hear. Then he sweeps himself towards the mattress set up at the center of the pavilion and plants himself on the edge, an imperious tilt to his nose as he looks at Shiro. “Enough talking. Tell me what you want after.”

After. Right. Yes. After the ritual.

Keith is looking at him expectantly again, and Shiro decides that the first step is probably undressing. He undoes the first button of his shirt and a great cheer swarms up around him.

He nearly jumps out of his skin. He’d been so focused on Keith that he’d forgotten about their audience. Gods, he hopes Pidge left. He hopes Matt left. He hopes no one will mention this to his face afterwards.

“Shy?” Keith says. His eyes are lidded, and his voice has gone deeper, in a way that goes straight to Shiro’s dick.

Shiro swallows and doesn’t trust his voice to speak.

Keith stands again and steps closer, brushing Shiro’s hand aside to undo the buttons himself. Every touch of his skin against Shiro’s chest tingles. Keith pushes the shirt open once he’s finished. He isn’t shy about the way his eyes sweep up and down the length of Shiro’s body; he puts a finger to Shiro’s sternum and drags a nail down his torso to where his hair starts just below his navel. He makes an approving sound in the back of his throat.

Shiro’s breath hitches and he holds it in as Keith unbuttons his pants and pushes it down, uncomfortably aware that people he went to school with are now staring at his bare ass.

He isn’t wearing any underwear underneath—Matt insisted on optimizing—and Keith’s gaze lingers for a moment on his cock, still mostly soft from nerves. Keith’s lips curl into a little smirk when he sees it. Before Shiro can register what’s happening, Keith’s on his knees, fingers resting against his cock.

There is a god on his knees in front of him.

“You really don’t have to—I don’t—what are you doing,” Shiro says, a bit desperately.

“Just helping you get started.” Keith takes his balls with one hand, rolling them firmly in his palm, and uses the other to grasp Shiro’s cock at the base and stroke him slowly. “There’s a lot I’m expecting from you, Takashi.”

The name throws Shiro for a moment—he really isn’t used to being called it, hasn’t been called it in a long time—but he recovers quickly. “I can—you shouldn’t—”

Keith squeezes him, hard, and the rest of Shiro’s sentence vanishes in a flash of arousal bordering on pain.

“Please,” Keith says, looking up at him with eyes glowing gold and purple. “Tell me again what I should and shouldn’t do.”

Shiro may be casual about his death, but he has a solid sense of self-preservation. He shuts up.

Keith hums, satisfied, and bends his head. Shiro hisses as Keith’s lips close around the head of his cock, and his hand flies to Keith’s hair to have something to hold on to. He isn’t sure this is acceptable behavior, but Keith doesn’t appear to mind. His tongue flicks against the underside of Shiro’s cock, working him to hardness; then Keith takes him to the root and Shiro’s hand fists in Keith’s hair as he groans. He tries to hold himself still as his breath quickens.

Choking a god on his cock has got to be bad form.

He may not be a virgin, but it’s been a really long time since he’s sought pleasure from someone other than himself and he is definitely not going to last. But that’s okay—Keith wants orgasms from him, right, he thinks a bit desperately. Keith will definitely get orgasms.

His legs and abs tremble with the effort to hold himself still as the warmth in his gut grows, and he won’t be able to resist much longer. “Keith, I’m—I’m gonna come.”

Keith works him more insistently, and Shiro tugs at Keith’s hair to draw him back. Keith resists, and it’s not until he tugs more insistently that Keith finally starts to draw back, but by then it’s too late, and Shiro’s groaning and coming in hot stripes across Keith’s face and neck.

The crowd erupts in cheers around him at the first seed of the ritual, but Shiro’s distracted by the fact that he’s just come all over a god’s face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Shiro lets go of Keith’s hair, panting, as he tries to figure out how to fix the situation. He reaches over and swipes away a streak of come on Keith’s forehead with his thumb before it can drip into his eyes.

Keith catches his wrist as he draws his hand back. Shiro can only watch dumbly as Keith pulls his thumb in between his lips, tongue swirling around the tip to clean it off. “Don’t worry,” Keith says, voice husky. “I like it, remember? Would’ve liked it even more down my throat.”

That’s the hottest sentence Shiro has ever heard in his life, and he feels impossibly hard again.

He looks down. He is impossibly hard again. It’s possible he was never not hard. “How am I still—?”

“The quintessence you drank earlier,” Keith says. “It helps you help me.”

“So I’m just going to… stay hard?”

“For the time being,” Keith says, and this is it. This is how Shiro’s going to die. Keith guides his hand back to Keith’s hair. “Now do it properly this time.”

“Do wha— _ah_.”

Keith’s answered the question by swallowing Shiro down again, all the way without hesitation, with the same vigor as before. The quintessence may have made Shiro’s body capable of doing this again so soon, but his mind is a muddled haze of incredible arousal and confusion. All he can do is hang on desperately as Keith’s throat works around him, and he cries out as he comes again in no time at all.

Keith pulls off with a wet pop once Shiro’s bowed over and panting and desperately trying to stay standing so that he doesn’t topple them both over.

“Good boy,” Keith says, voice rough from Shiro’s cock down his throat. He doesn’t even have the decency to wipe off his mouth with his hand, obscenely licking off the come around his lips instead. It draws attention to the fact that his face is still a mess from earlier.

Shiro’s breath stutters. “You are…”

“What?”

“Unreal.”

Keith smirks. “I know.”

“Gods.”

“Only one god here,” Keith says. He rises smoothly and grabs the lapels of Shiro’s shirt to drag him back the few steps to the mattress, and Shiro trips and kicks off his pants on the way. Once they reach it, Keith sits and tugs down so that Shiro has to bend over and plant his hand between Keith’s legs to keep balanced. “Tell me what you want.”

“I—” Shiro didn’t think he’d be chosen, and he definitely didn’t think Keith would ask about his preferences. His mind is completely void of anything people do during sex other than fucking and blowjobs. “Anything you want is fine.” Keith makes a complicated expression, and Shiro adds, “Within reason.”

“I’d consider a lot of things within reason.” Keith brings his fingers up to rest against the sides of Shiro’s jaw. It’s an intimate touch, and makes something in Shiro ache with a longing he doesn’t completely understand. “You can’t tell me you don’t care what we do.”

“It’s not that I don’t care,” Shiro says, though he kind of doesn’t care. “It’s just—you’re the god here. I’m doing it for you. So shouldn’t we do what you want?”

“I see,” Keith says. His hands drop to the bed. “Fuck me, then.”

Shiro laughs, startled, and stands straight. “Are all gods so…”

“So what?”

 _Crude_ is what Shiro wants to say, but he has the sense not to call Keith that to his face. “Human.”

Keith presses his lips together, then sighs. “Probably not. I’m half.”

“Half-human?”

“That’s why I need the ritual,” Keith says. “I can’t make enough energy on my own.”

“Oh.” Shiro blinks. The ritual started only a couple of generations ago, which means Keith must be fairly young. “How old are you?”

Keith snorts. “Older than you think. If you’re wondering about the time before the ritual, I had another source of energy then.”

“Oh,” Shiro says again, and he’s about to ask more when Keith lifts a foot and presses it against his cock. His breath leaves him in a stuttered gasp.

“Are we going to talk all day,” Keith says, “or are you going to do something with that?”

Keith knows what he wants, that’s for sure.

Shiro shrugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the ground. Scattered whoops rise up around the pavilion, and he can hear Matt’s voice distinctly yelling, “Yeah, you get him!”

Matt didn’t leave. Shiro’s never going to be able to look him in the eyes again. He’s moving out after this.

“Friend of yours?” Keith says, nudging his cock again.

Shiro flushes and clears his throat as he removes Keith’s foot from his person. “How do you want it?”

Keith stands. They’re close enough that the movement sends him flush against Shiro, and Shiro’s struck by the urge to kiss him. He refrains—that feels like a boundary that he shouldn’t cross.

Keith puts one hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and with the other, he takes Shiro’s hand and puts it over the curve of his ass. “I think your friends want a show. Why don’t you give them one?”

Shiro steels himself and slides his hand under the hem of Keith’s short chiton, feeling the warm, smooth skin underneath. Keith’s presence is large, but in this position, Shiro realizes that Keith’s actually a lot smaller than he seems. He’s a full head shorter than Shiro is, and Shiro’s hand can span the entire curve of his ass. Shiro squeezes firmly and revels in Keith’s shaky exhale, the first sign of less than total composure. He moves his hand and slides his fingers against Keith’s entrance. “Do you have oil?”

“You won’t need it.”

“Fuck.” Shiro drops his forehead against the top of Keith’s hair as he presses in with a finger. He’s not so wet he’s dripping, but he’s definitely slick enough to ease the way. Shiro pushes in deeper, testing, and Keith wiggles and makes a soft, satisfied noise.

“You don’t have to do that either,” Keith says. “I can take it.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Shiro says, meaning it. But maybe it’s for the best if he’s trying not to let Keith come. He lets his finger slip out and swallows as Keith places a delicate hand on his chest and licks his lips.

“Show me what you can do,” he says.

Shiro turns him around and pushes him face-first towards the mattress.

Keith goes easily, catching himself on his hands and looking back at Shiro over his shoulder. From this position, it’s easy to look over Keith’s head, down to the faces of the gathered crowd. It’s nerve-wracking, so Shiro turns his focus to Keith instead, using his hair to turn his head towards their audience.

“You like being watched?” he says.

Keith stretches, highlighting the obscene curve of his back. “Not as much as you will.”

Somehow Shiro doubts that.

He steadfastly avoids thinking about anything else as he sweeps the dark cloak aside and pushes the chiton up to Keith’s lower back, lines himself up, and nudges the head of his cock in, careful not to move too quickly.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because as soon as he slips in, Keith rears back to meet him, and Shiro lets out a strangled groan as he goes from tip to fully sheathed in half a second. He grabs Keith’s hip to hold him still. “You ever heard of taking it slow?”

“Not really,” Keith says, seemingly unaffected as he grinds against him.

Keith is a menace.

Shiro steps in closer to the bed, using his thighs to press Keith flush against it and give him less leverage to move. He presses down between Keith’s shoulder blades until his chest is flat against the bed and starts to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed when it’s clear the noises spilling from Keith’s lips are pleasure, not pain.

Shiro tries to hold out, but he realizes there’s no point, not if he’ll just keep going after. Besides, it’s an impossible task—Keith is hot and tight around him, and the sight of Keith’s hands twisting in the sheets and the way he gasps every time Shiro moves are too much for Shiro’s senses.

Shiro fists his hand in Keith’s hair, yanking it back the way he likes it and baring his face to their rapt audience. Keith whines loudly and squirms, and Shiro only lasts a few more thrusts before he pitches forward, head plastered against Keith’s back, and slams in and comes with a groan.

Keith makes a soft noise with every pulse of his cock, and Shiro thinks the crowd is reacting again, but he’s consumed with thoughts of Keith, and the desperate need to see his face as Shiro takes him.

He lets go and pulls out and flips Keith onto his back, crowding him further up the bed so that Shiro can join him on it. Cloth is suddenly a barrier, and he makes quick work of it, unpinning the cloak so that it falls under Keith and tossing the chiton aside. He doesn’t give Keith space to breathe before he throws Keith’s legs over his shoulders and sinks in again, balancing himself with his hand against Keith’s sternum. It’s even easier this time; Keith’s had more time to adjust to his girth, and the mess of Shiro’s come eases the slide in.

Keith takes hold of Shiro’s thighs to pull him in deeper. His lashes flutter, and he tips his head back and moans as Shiro sets a steady pace.

“Look at me,” Shiro says, and Keith lowers his chin and opens his eyes.

He’s beautiful, and his composure is completely cracked open. His hair has fallen out of the braid, laying messy against the bed. His face is twisted in pleasure, and the sight of it—of Keith looking at him red-faced and teary-eyed, of the way the breath is forced from his lungs at each of Shiro’s thrusts—make Shiro shiver and come.

“Most of the time, people are jealous of the one fucking me,” Keith pants out as Shiro takes a moment to recover. “This is the first time I think they’re all jealous of me.”

Shiro laughs, breathless, and starts to thrust again, slowly. He thinks he can feel the come dripping onto the bed. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Keith cups his face in his hands, a parody of intimacy. “You’re hot. You’re strong. Your cock is huge. They can— _ah_ —they can see how well you take me. Who wouldn’t want a man who can wreck a god?”

“Fuck,” Shiro says. He moves faster. “Stop talking.”

Keith does not stop talking. “They’re thinking about it, you know. Right now. How it’d feel to be the one under you. How much they want you to hold them down and make them take it. But the only one who can take you like this is me.”

Shiro groans.

“You like that?” Keith scrapes his nails down the back of Shiro’s neck and fuck, he hadn’t realized he was sensitive there. “You like knowing I was made for you to fuck? You can take me harder. You can do anything you want. I won’t stop you.”

“I don’t—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Keith laughs, a breathy sound. “It’s cute that you think you could.”

That’s right. Keith may look human, but he’s something else entirely. He’ll bend under Shiro, but there’s no way Shiro can make him break. Just the thought of it makes him shake and shudder and groan, and he falls to his forearm as he spills inside Keith’s heat.

He can actually feel the come inside, filling Keith as Shiro’s filling him, and it’s partly gross and partly weird, but mostly it lights a primal fire in him. The more that he marks Keith with his release, the more he wants to. He bites at the side of Keith’s neck, where he’s always been sensitive, and starts moving again without pulling out.

“Ah.” Keith moans, head thrown back in pleasure, and he fists his fingers in Shiro’s hair and pulls. “Ah, fuck, you’re so good.”

There’s something about him—the set of his expression, or the tension of his muscles—and Shiro can tell Keith’s going to come. He pulls out before Keith can get there, and Keith starts to protest, but he goes lax at the first splash of Shiro’s come against his stomach and chest, hands dropping to the bed.

Shiro doesn’t have to ask if Keith enjoys it. He puts his hand in the mess, smearing it into Keith’s skin, and Keith whines and writhes but he stays docile.

Shiro puts his fingers to Keith’s lips, and Keith looks at him through lidded eyes as he takes them into his mouth and cleans them off. “You really do like it, don’t you?”

“I like how they can see it,” Keith says, chillingly sincere. “Everyone can see that I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” Shiro breathes, the thought sparking heat in him. There’s nothing he can do but steady himself and fuck him.

Maybe Keith was right. Maybe there is something to this public element. He takes Keith again and again until he’s crying for release that Shiro can’t grant, filling him until he’s overflowing and coating his body in hot, white streaks when it’s clear he’s too close to the edge. He leaves his mark, over and over, and revels in the fact that everyone can see the way he bows Keith under him. When they’re finished, there won’t be any question who Keith belongs to.

Shiro catches himself at that thought, reminds himself of reality—Keith may be pliant under him now, but he doesn’t belong to him. Keith doesn’t belong to anyone.

But Shiro can fuck him harder and, just for a moment, pretend.

At some point, Keith tries to get himself off with his hand, and Shiro grabs his wrist and hauls it over his head.

“Give me your other hand,” Shiro says, and he can see in Keith’s face the desperation to come warring with the desire to obey. “You’ve been so good.”

Keith whimpers and throws up his arm, letting Shiro pin both his wrists over his head. It’s a test of his strength and his balance, and it’s not long before his arm is tired and his mind is thoroughly wrung out, and he collapses in the mess of sweat and come, letting Keith’s legs finally fall to rest on the bed.

Keith tries to take advantage of his weakness to twist out of Shiro’s grip, but Shiro’s prepared for it and holds firm.

“You can’t,” Shiro says.

Keith whines and struggles, face red with exertion and eyes brimming with tears. “I thought this was about what I wanted.”

“Anything but that,” Shiro says.

“Just because of this stupid ritual?”

“It’s your ritual.”

Keith tugs on his wrists. “I don’t make the rules of energy transference. I wouldn’t even have to do this if—”

“If what?”

“Nothing,” Keith snarls.

It’s the most unbelievable _nothing_ Shiro’s ever heard.

“I didn’t take you as a selfish lover,” Keith says, and Shiro knows it’s meant to hurt.

“If the circumstances were different, I’d let you.”

“Yeah?” Keith says. “Let me how? Would you hold me down and fuck me until I came on your cock?”

“I’d blow you,” Shiro promises. “I’d eat you out. I’d make you come until you cried.” Keith’s beautiful when he’s overwhelmed. “Then I’d do it again.”

“Fuck,” Keith breathes. His eyes are wide and dark. “Fuck. Please. Do it. Let me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I know you want me to,” Keith says. “You’re gonna let this stupid ritual stop you? You won’t even be alive for the next harvest.”

“Everyone else will be,” Shiro says. “I owe it to them.”

The muscles of Keith’s arms flex, and Shiro presses him down harder just as Keith struggles to break free again. He growls when Shiro’s grip remains firm. “I’m getting fucking tired of you going on about what you owe everyone else, Shiro. Think about yourself for once in your goddamn life!”

Shiro pauses and studies him. It’s clear it’s not about the sex anymore. It’s like before, when he set Keith off without knowing why. He keeps his voice low, so as not to worry their audience. “Why are you getting so upset over my life?”

Keith glares at him and hisses, “Because you’re not!”

It’s not an answer, or at least not one that makes sense to Shiro, but he can tell Keith is spiraling. He needs something to anchor him back.

It’s a little clumsy without his hand to help, but Shiro manages to line himself up and slide back in, bottoming out with no resistance.

Underneath him, Keith whimpers, and Shiro shushes him as he starts to move.

“I hate you,” Keith says through tears, and Shiro can tell it’s because he’s overwhelmed and not because he means it. “You’re stupid and I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“You don’t,” Shiro says, and adjusts their angles so that he can hit Keith’s prostate dead on for the first time.

Keith wails.

“Fuck, Shiro!” Keith thrashes against his grip and cries. “Shiro, Shiro, I l—”

Shiro seals his mouth over Keith’s, trapping the rest of his words in the air between them as he buries himself inside Keith and comes. It’s too much, has been too much, overflowing and messy and very, very satisfying. He breaks away from the kiss and pulls out, Keith whimpering softly as the movement sends more come spilling from him, but it turns into a cry as Shiro wraps his lips around Keith’s cock and swallows him whole.

There’s a less-than-pleased sound growing from the formerly satisfied crowd, and Matt’s voice clearly yelling, “ _What the fuck are you doing_?” but Shiro can’t bring himself to care when Keith is breathing hard and holding himself so rigidly, as though Shiro will stop the second he moves.

Shiro’s not planning on stopping. He works Keith with his hand and mouth until he’s panting quietly, gasping Shiro’s name like a prayer until he arches and comes with the quietest whimper.

Shiro closes his eyes and drinks him down. Keith’s come is light and sweet and flowery and hot on the way down, and tastes like the chalice of quintessence he'd been given at the beginning of the ritual. It doesn’t surprise him—of course Keith’s come would be as godly as him.

But while the chalice of quintessence had warmed him, this is sparking a flame.

Shiro pulls off, gasping as fire curls in his gut. It’s hot. Very hot. So hot it’s painful.

Keith sits up, watching him in concern. “Shiro?”

He can’t speak. The flames are spreading from his gut to his limbs, coursing through every vein and making him spasm as it sears his skin. Agony bursts in each of his pores. He collapses to the bed and screams as black flames consume the world around him.

Everything is dark.

Quiet.

Empty.

Nothing.

“Shiro!”

The call of his name sounds so far away. He reaches for it blindly, grasping onto the last syllable to drag him back into reality.

Keith—beautiful, beloved Keith—is hovering over him, eyes wide in panic and fingers resting lightly against his face. His hair is mussed, and he’s everywhere streaked in come, but he’s still the loveliest sight Shiro’s ever seen. Around them, the pavilion is wreathed in dark shadow, hiding them from the outside world.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. “Shiro, your arm.”

Shiro glances over to his right arm. He can feel the phantom pain of Garre soldiers rending it from his shoulder while helping Sendak take his throne, with magic dark enough that not even his reincarnation a century later could bring it back. The emptiness has been replaced with a shadowy swirl of dark magic, curling in the shape of a limb. He clenches his fist, and the shadows move with him.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers again, putting his hand on Shiro’s shadowy one. “You’re Shiro, right? My Shiro.”

Shiro reaches up to cup Keith’s face, feeling the way Keith’s jaw trembles under his fingers. “You found me, Keith.”

Keith grabs onto his arm with both hands as his eyes grow wet again. “I thought—I was so scared. I thought you’d come back after you drank the quintessence, but then you didn’t remember me at all. I thought I was wrong.”

“I remembered a little, but it wasn’t enough. I needed you.” Shiro throws his shadow arm around Keith’s waist and flips them over. It’s a familiar position, but a strange one—he knows he’s just had Keith under him like this, but it feels like it’s been a lifetime. He kisses Keith softly. “I’m sorry I left you.”

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Keith says. “You shouldn’t have let them kill you. I don’t care what the Fates said. You don’t know what Sendak’s been doing—”

“We’ll take care of Sendak,” Shiro says. He takes hold of Keith’s thighs and pushes them up to his chest as he shakes. “Let me take care of you first.”

Keith reaches out to him, drags him down for a desperate kiss as Shiro’s shoulders push his legs impossibly further down. “I missed you,” he gasps, “I missed you so much. Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, Shiro.”

Shiro strokes his hair. “I won’t,” he says. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a decision I should have made on my own.”

“You promised me eternity,” Keith says. “I expect every last second of it.”

Shiro laughs. “And you even dragged me from the Fates to get it. I expected no less from you, husband.”

Keith’s eyes turn molten, and he drags Shiro down to kiss him again. This time Shiro lets his hands wander down, pressing Keith’s thigh down with a shadowy grip as he uses the other hand to line himself up so he can sink in. It’s as easy as it was before for him to bury himself all the way and set a brutal pace.

It’s been too long, and not long at all, and Keith is letting out shocked gasps underneath him immediately. There’s no need for a ritual anymore, not when they’ll be going home and Keith will have easy access to as much energy as he wants. He fists his hand in Keith’s hair, yanks his head back, and fucks him until he’s crying out and coming across his own stomach and chest, adding to the mess of come there.

Shiro starts to pull out to mark him again, but Keith rears back to life, tipping Shiro backward so he can sit astride him.

“Need you inside me,” he pants as he plants his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and starts to fuck himself on his cock. “Shiro, please. Need to feel you.”

“I’ve got you.” Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s back, plants his feet, and snaps his hips up to meet Keith’s pace.

Keith’s eyes blow wide and he gasps, punched-out moans leaving him every time Shiro’s hips slam against him. “Ah, ah, Shiro, I’m—”

He pitches forward and cries out as he comes again, across Shiro this time, and Shiro holds him tight as he fucks him through it.

“I love you,” Keith is gasping through his tears. “Shiro, I love you, I love you so much.”

It’s Keith’s voice that brings him over the edge.

Keith groans as Shiro empties himself inside him, and rests against Shiro’s chest as they both come down.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes.

Shiro smiles at him and kisses the bridge of his nose. “Finally had enough?”

“No.”

Shiro bucks up into him.

“Fuck!” Keith whimpers, fingers clenching on Shiro’s shoulders. “Wait.”

Shiro laughs and kisses him again as Keith pants on top of him.

“I’m still mad at you,” Keith says.

“I’m still in love with you,” Shiro says. “I’ll always be in love with you.”

Keith flushes and hides his face against Shiro’s pecs. “We should get out of here.”

“I should explain to everyone what’s going on first before I disappear,” Shiro says. There are people he needs to give his thanks to.

“You’re not upset?” Keith says.

Shiro hums in question.

Keith touches his shadowy arm. “They did this to you.”

“It wasn’t them,” Shiro says. “Even if it was, I couldn’t blame them.”

“You’re so stupidly noble. That’s how you died in the first place.” Keith flicks his nipple.

Shiro grabs the offending hand and presses his lips against the silver wrapped around Keith’s ring finger, then the one nestled on his thumb. “Is this mine?”

Keith tugs off the ring, and Shiro catches sight of a familiar engraving on the inside. He picks up Shiro’s hand and slides the ring onto his finger without ceremony.

It’s a perfect fit.

“You made me a promise,” Keith says.

“Eternity,” Shiro says. “And whatever comes after.”

Keith presses his lips to Shiro’s ring. “And whatever comes after.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the [heart hotel (allie, cai, and faia)](https://heart-hotel.carrd.co/) for being fantastic editors and cheerleaders! ♥
> 
> .
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ailurea) // [website](https://ailurea.carrd.co)


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